


Season Ticket On A One Way Ride

by luumenss



Category: Dungeons and Daddies (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Glenn is Dead, Willy Stampler is His Own Warning, content warnings in the summaries, i caught up yesterday and wrote this in a haze, this is gonna get real sad folks, this is my first fic for this fandom and the fastest fic i've ever written
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:42:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28376391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luumenss/pseuds/luumenss
Summary: Glenn Close stares into the face of Justice itself and makes a choice.He isn’t losing his son. Not today.“I’m a bad bitch,” he says with a grin. “YOU CAN’T KILL ME!”---aka, in episode 48 Glenn chooses the other option and the dads not only have to deal with his death, but somehow find a way to bring him back.
Relationships: Glenn Close & Darryl Wilson, Glenn Close & Henry Oak, Glenn Close & Nicolas Close, Glenn Close & Ron Stampler
Comments: 2
Kudos: 15





	1. i'm a bad bitch, you can't kill me (actually, you very much can)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> cws: death,blood, child finding out about the death of a parent
> 
> Glenn takes the other option after the trial, and the dads must deal with the deadly consequences

Glenn Close stares into the face of Justice itself and makes a choice.

He isn’t losing his son. Not today, and not ever.

A light flashes, and Glenn is back in the court house. Radio Lab snarls, Willy narrows his eyes and smiles, and his dad looks away. The other dads freeze, unsure what they should do, turning to Glenn with a silent question of  _ what now? _

Glenn glares at the dragon, his fingers twitching to a silent tune.

“I’m a bad bitch,” he says with a grin. “YOU CAN’T KILL ME!”

Radio Lab growls and slashes out with its claws, slicing Glenn across the chest.

He falls so fast, the others don’t even have time to stop it.

“ _ NO! _ ”

Henry, Darryl, Bill, Paeden, and Ron all scream in unison as Glenn’s body crumples to the floor. Willy stares at the body, eyes wide as is even he didn’t expect his plan to work so well and so fast. A smile grows across his face, and he opens his mouth to say something when Glenn groans and shifts slightly.

Willy’s smile falls and he glares at Glenn, clearly annoyed. “Just die already, you  _ imbecile.” _

Darryl leaps to his feet, rushing over to where Glenn lies and gathering the other man in his arms.

Radio Lab snarls, ready to deliver a finishing blow, but Willy raises his hand to stop him.

“Let him have his final words. Let him think about how he doomed his son to be an orphan and is giving all of his friends permanent trauma-”

“Hey!” Darryl’s voice reverberates the room. “Glenn has fucked up before, but he’s not a bad dad! And even he was, why should he choose between death and losing his son forever? That’s a shitty system! How are you supposed to become better if this is the price for mistakes?”

Willy doesn’t respond, just frowns more, and Bill just splutters from behind him. “I- I didn’t think they’d actually- not this far-'' Willy gives him a sharp look, and Bill goes quiet as he looks away from the dying form of his son.

“Hey man,” Darryl looks down as Glenn shifts slightly in his arms. “You’ll take care of Nick for me, right?”

“It’s not over yet, ok? We’re going to fix this, I promise.” Neither Glenn nor Darryl is sure that it’s true, but they still try and cling to that fragment of hope.

“I chose death, dude. This is it for me.” Glenn blinks, trying to push away the tears prickling at the corner of his eyes. He tried to move, tried to get up and fight but he couldn’t. All he could think about was Nick. Nick, alone, without parents, with only a mediocre grandfather as his family. All because he was fucking selfish, because he couldn’t imagine living in a world without his son. “Promise me you’ll take care of him, please. I couldn’t be a good enough parent, but I need to know-”

“I- I promise.”

“You’ll get him home for me?” Glenn tries not to think about the fact Nick won’t have much of a home to go back to as he struggles to breathe. 

“We’ll get  _ both _ of you home.” Darryl squeezes Glenn’s hand, and Glenn smiles slightly.

“Tell him that I died in an extremely cool way for me, ok? Tell him I love him, but also tell him that I was awesome until the end,” Dartly nods shakily.

“Sure thing, man.” Henry kneels beside him. “We’ll- we’ll see you soon, buddy.” 

“If I can be Darryl’s dad, I can be anyone’s. Nick will be ok with me, baby.” Paeden pats Glenn’s knee and Glenn smiles slightly before coughing, blood trickling down his chin.

“Nick will be alright,” Ron murmurs from behind Henry’s shoulder. “Sorry I wasn’t a good lawyer, I’ll do better next time, I-”

“Enough of this sappy bullshit already!” Willy growls from across the room. “Glenn Close, you are sentenced to death, and I intend to carry that out!”

Glenn chuckles as a trail of blood spills over his lip. “Fuck you, man.”

“I have to do everything myself, don’t I?” Willy breaths, his expression turning dangerously calm. He turns and strides over to the gavel. “The court,” he says, his voice ringing with terrifying finality, “is dismissed.” 

The gavel swings downward, and when the dads open their eyes, they’re sitting in the dirt outside Walter’s, and Glenn is limp in Darryl’s arms.

The five-the four of them stand outside the door, none of them wanting to be the one to knock. A heavy quietness hangs in the air around them, only broken up by the sound of Ron’s choked sobs. 

Glenn stares upward at nothing, his mouth still frozen in his annoying cocky grin, his hair sticky and matted with blood, clinging to his forehead and cheeks.

Henry reaches out and shakily closes Glenn’s eyes, and Darryl half-heartedly tries to tug Glenn’s leather jacket closed to cover the wound that none of them look at, but the dragon’s claw marks have wrecked the jacket too and eventually Darryl gives up.

“What do we do?” Henry’s voice shakes as he stares at the door to Walter’s house, knowing that somewhere inside is a kid who doesn’t know that his dad is dead,, “We- we can’t- we shouldn’t let Nick see…” He trails off, not wanting to finish his sentence. They all know what he’s talking about.

“I can get Walter?” The dads all turn to look at Paeden, whose face is streaked with tears as he fiddles with the hem of his shirt.

When no one answers, Paeden steps forwards and knocks with a shaky hand. The door swings open quickly, and Walter steps outside. 

“You’re back! Took you long, enough, I was-” Walter stops suddenly. He sees Paeden’s face first, then Henry’s, then Ron’s, then Darryl’s, and finally his gaze falls on the body.

“Oh. Oh no.” He croaks, and he puts a gentle hand on Paeden’s shoulder.

From inside the house a voice- Either Lark or Sparrow- echos joyfully- “Brother! Father and his friends are back!” - and footsteps start from down the hall.

Thankfully, Walter acts quickly, yelling for the kids to stay inside a minute.

The dads exchange looks, all of them unsure of what to do next. 

“I’ll do it,” Ron says finally, breaking the excruciating silence. “I know what Terry went through. I- I lost my dad too, and Glenn was a lot better than my dad, but I can try to talk to him.” Darryl nods, and slowly moves back from the body 

Walter steps aside, not saying anything as Ron shakily steps into the house, wiping at his face with his shirtsleeve.

Laughter echoes from down the hall, mixed with sounds of arguing as the twins and what sounds like Grant fight over something Ron can’t quite make out.

Nick looks up from where he sits, interrupting whatever conversation he’d been having with Terry. “You’re back!” He says with a grin, and out of the corner of his eye he sees Terry’s eyebrows crease with confusion as he looks at his stepdad's face. The sounds of fighting from deeper in the house quiets, and the faces of the remaining three kids peek out from around the corner.

“Nick? I uh, I need to talk to you, in private maybe, I uh-”

“The trial!” Nick jumps up his seat.. The other kids look up at Ron eagerly, having clearly been told about what was going on. “How did it go? Damn, I wish I’d gotten the cahnce to give him some legal advice, I learned some great stuff in school a few months ago that could’ve really helped him.

“See, that’s uh, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about..” Ron stumbles over his words as he tries to think of what to say. Despite his experience with dead dads, how do you tell someone that their father is gone?

Nick’s face falls, but there’s still hope in his eyes. “They- they put him in jail? We can break him out, right?”

“Nick, I’m sorry, but, uh,” Ron glances around the room before meeting Terry Jr.’s eyes, and deep down Ron knows he figured it out. Terry covers his mouth with a hand, stifling a gasp behind Nick’s back.

Ron tries to speak again, but he keeps stumbling over his words. He still hasn’t processed Glenn being- being dead, how can he break the news to Glenn’s kid?

Nick’s eyes narrow in suspicion. “Ron. Where is my dad?” Ron’s eyes impulsively flick to the door leading outside, and Nick takes a step back as understanding starts to dawn on his face. He stares at the tear tracks on Ron’s face, at the blood smeared on Ron’s shirt, at the door where the rest of the daddies stand.

Nick shakes his head in disbelief. He steps forward, then runs, pushing past Ron, pushing through the door, pushing past Walter and Henry as they try to block him from seeing Glenn’s body in Darryl’s arms.

He can’t even say anything before he crumples to his knees beside his dad’s body. “ _No,_ ” he whispers, and tears start to pour down his cheeks. “No no no no no, this isn’t real, this can’t- I can’t- I can’t lose you too!” Nick grabs Glenn’s shoulders like he’s trying to shake him awake but it isn’t working.

Nick’s frantic cries for his dad start to fade back into sobs, and for a long time no one speaks. Henry turns away and presses his face into Darryl’s shoulder, and Darryl tries to wrap a comforting arm around him but his arms are too shaky and Henry is trembling so hard, and eventually Ron joins them in the embrace and they stand there crying, not knowing how to comfort Nick. They can’t even comfort themselves. 

\---

If anyone could make the “fun” in funeral really matter, it would be Glenn. He’d probably crack jokes, fondly reminisce about the person, and find a way to cheer everyone up without disrespecting the dead. (Okay, he’d probably disrespect the dead and his jokes might be in bad taste, but they would cheer people up.)

But that didn’t really matter now. This funeral  _ was  _ Glenn’s, and no one really knew how to handle that.

The sun was setting, casting a fiery glow on the horizon, and they were piling dirt into the grave, covering the haphazard coffin Walter had made from wood scraps in his workshop. It wasn’t perfect, but neither was Glenn, and the coffin should suit the person it was made for, right?

Nick stood over the grave, his expression still and emotionless. He’d dropped the first fistful of dirt, but hadn’t moved since, and was choosing to instead watch dirt slowly cover the coffin that held the last remnant of his family. 

He reached out and brushed a few crumbs of dirt off the headstone Henry had shaped with magic.  _ Glenn Close,  _ the carved name read.  _ A good father, a good person, and a great musician.  _ A slightly lopsided guitar decorated the top, and Nick was running his fingers over it. An entire person- 3 ½ decades of living- all condensed into 10 words and a guitar. How did you do that? Capture a person-especially someone who lived as large as Glenn did- in a tiny headstone? It seemed wholly impossible, and it was. 

Glenn had fucked up. A lot. But even he deserved better. Even he deserved another chance. And godddammit, they were going to fight for it.

\---

Everything was burning. Smoke filled the air- no, smoke  _ was  _ the air, and not the fun gets-you-high kind of smoke. These were hot black clouds would choke you if you breathed too deeply. 

Luckily, Glenn Close wasn’t really breathing at all.

Glenn opened his eyes, staring at the red sky above him. Everything was hurting, and his chest and abdomen screamed in agony as he tried to sit up.

Glenn Close was dead. He was in hell (cool, but scary) and he was dead.

_ Fuck. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i might write a chapter focused on each dad and nick dealing with the death as they try to save him intercut with glenn trying to escape hell. i don't know entourage so i might not include it but who knows! also, this is my first multi-chapter fic so we'll see how it goes.


	2. The Close Family Histories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> cws for this chapter: discussions of death, panic attacks, child dealing with the death of a parent
> 
> nick remembers his dad, and henry provides some comfort while glenn discovers more about hell.

Normally, the dads would drop a kid off, pick up a kid, and go off on their merry way to retrieve another anchor. Sure, things had been different when Lark and Sparrow had returned sans-fathers, yelling about his dad’s soul leaving his body, but Nick hadn’t questioned it. Not really. He just didn’t think about something bad happening to his dad and all the implications it brought. 

He remembers the day his dad told him about his mom like it was yesterday. He’d walked into the kitchen after Grant’s dad had dropped him off from soccer practice, expecting to find his mom cooking on the stove while his dad played classical rock on one of his many guitars. Instead, he’d stepped in to find his dad sitting alone at the table, his face in his hands as his shoulders shook.

Nick had never seen his father cry before. After that day, he didn’t see it again. Not long after that, Nick stopped crying in front of his dad too. 

They’d always been a close family. It was in their name- the Closes, the closest family on the block. They’d have family dinners and game nights where they didn’t care about the age recommendations on the games, they’d take him to PG-13 movies and go on hikes. When his dad went on tour they’d facetime every night, sharing stories from their day while Glenn showed off all the different places he traveled to, describing a mid-Western mall with the same gusto as a foreign country. Sometimes it would suck not having his dad home for Christmas, but they would figure it out, and every year Glenn would arrive home with a suitcase full of knick-knacks he’d picked up on his travels.

In the years since his mom died, his dad had stopped bringing so many presents back, and their daily facetimes dwindled to check-in texts and a call on Christmas Day. 

Nick would give anything for another awkward facetime.

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that that Glenn been alive and joking one day and unmoving the next, it wasn’t fair that everyone around him looked at him with pity in their eyes, and it wasn’t fucking fair that Nick was alone.

If he walked into the woods behind Walter’s house, and curled up in the grass amongst the trees with his eyes closed, he could remember everything about his dad perfectly. The sound of his laughter as he giggled uncontrollably at his own dumb jokes. The way he could dance while playing the guitar at the same time and always keep perfect time. How his voice got loud and passionate when he played one of Nick’s favorite songs. How late at night, when he thought Nick had gone to bed, he would play slow, sad songs and sing in a way he didn’t anywhere else, songs about love and loss and sadness. The way he smelled of weed, but also of cinnamon and pine trees and car exhaust, and how it made for a strangely comforting scent. 

He could remember every detail of his dad’s outfits, too. The tattered and well worn band tees with faded logos and almost-washed-away tour dates on the back. The leather jacket that had grown thin around the elbows, soft and comfortable after years of use. The cord around his neck that always held a few backup guitar picks. The wedding ring on his finger, tarnished from years of being anxiously twisted. The red-tinted sunglasses that would hide dark eyes.

All of that was buried six feet below the ground. The jacket he’d once promised to eventually hand down to Nick had been ripped to shreds. The cord had broken, and whatever had been hanging off of it was long gone by the time of the funeral. The glasses had never even made it back with him, and when Nick closed his eyes he could imagine them lying broken on the floor of an empty courthouse, all-too-familiar blood splattered on the lenses.

When he lay in the grass, Nick could almost imagine his dad laying beside him instead of below him, humming the lyrics to  _ God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen  _ under his breath and tapping out the beat on his knee while they watched the clouds together.

In this perfect universe, they weren’t talking. Nick had once longed for a connection between them, a real one, a world where they talked and hugged and laughed together. Now he just wants that comfortable silence back again. He wants the world where he kept his feelings bottled up and didn’t seal his dad’s fate in a cold and unfamiliar courthouse. 

If he’d kept his mouth shut, maybe this wouldn’t have happened. If he hadn’t taken his dad for granted, maybe he would still be here, alive and happy and as healthy as he could be.

Nick’s hand presses into the dirt, and he pulls a handful of loose grass and sod from the earth, squeezing it before letting it crumble back onto the ground. Someone will probably come looking for him. Everytime he disappears they find him, and even though he’s always in the same place beside the grave, they still take a while to find him. Nick isn’t sure if that’s because they’re dumb or becuse they’re letting him be alone out of pity.

Probably both.

Eventually TJ will show up and hug him without saying anything. Or Ron will try to talk again and continue to trip over his words before falling into a painful silence. Or Walter will arrive and lead him to the workshop and let him take out his emotions with a hammer. His dad has been gone for two fucking days and already this is annoyingly predictable.

He’d probably make fun of everyone for trying and failing so hard, and high-five his dad while doing it.

Fuck.

Tears start to gather at the corner of his eyes again and he presses the heel of his hand to them, trying to push the tears away. Dirt gets in his left eye and he hisses, sitting up as he tries to deal with the mixture of dirt and tears streaking his face. Everything is just getting wiped across his face and now he  _ really  _ can’t see, and  _ fuck,  _ everything is going to shit. (Everything has already gone to shit in his life, but up until a moment ago he was doing as well as he could while lying next to his dad’s grave.

“Hey, Nick,” A voice catches Nick’s attention and he stiffens, resorting to trying to blink out the dirt while letting his hands fall to his sides. Whoever spoke must’ve been able to sneak up on him while he was rubbing at his face.

“Do- do you want to talk?” It’s Henry’s voice, and Nick is a little caught off guard by the waver in it.

“I’m fine,” Nick’s words come out a little too shaky and he does not appreciate how much they undermine his argument.

Henry pauses, like he’s thinking of what to say, before pressing something cool and damp into Nick’s hands.  _ A washcloth,  _ Nick realizes, and he gratefully takes a moment to wipe the much off his face.

“I know you probably don’t want to talk to anyone right now, especially me, but I uh, I thought you might want a distraction.”

Nick doesn’t know what that means, but he doesn’t have the energy to do anything except sit there and clutch the muddy rag.

“Did Lark and Sparrow say anything about what happened with my anchor? Speaking of, how exactly did they get back here?”

Nick takes a deep breath before starting to talk. “I don’t know, they showed up with a weird barrel saying something about a crab and getting more powerful? I thought it was lame so I didn’t ask about it.”

Henry laughs a little, and a tiny voice in Nick’s head wants to scream at him for laughing when his dad is fucking  _ dead _ . He doesn’t, though, and instead just shrugs like he still doesn’t care.

“We found out something. It turns out… I’m from here. Not  _ here  _ here, but Oakvale, where my anchor was. I probably should have figured that out when I arrived and everyone looked like me, but instead I ended up fighting my dad… it was a mess.” Henry takes a long pause before continuing. “That’s why I have magic. I’m getting stronger the longer I’m here. We all are. I’m not going to lie to you. I don’t know if there’s a way to bring back your dad. But I think we can, and we’re not going to stop until we find an answer, okay?”

Nick doesn’t want to look at Henry. He doesn’t want to hope for a chance to change the past, because he doesn’t want to be crushed again. He doesn’t want to hear about Henry’s fucked up family (that’s a lie, he appreciates the attempt at the distraction and he does want to hear the full story, but not right now and asking about it at any point in time would probably diminish his coolness level anyways.)

He does want to hear about his dad. “What was he like in a fight?” The words slip out before he can stop them, and he can hear Henry suddenly inhale quickly beside him before sighing and massaging his temples. 

“He- he was good at fighting. Surprisingly so, actually. He was ready to 1v1 an Avatar of Death, and he nearly fistfought Paeden once after Paeden tried to cut his Achilles’ Tendons. Paeden’s 8 and we held Glenn back, but he was ready to fight. He was ready to fight until the end. After the verdict,Henry's voice wavers slightly on  _ verdict,  _ “He was ready to face a giant dragon, even, but…”

Henry trails off before finishing the sentence. Nick realizes how that fight ended and pain coils in his stomach. His heart is being squeezed and his vision is going blurry, and all he can think about is his dad standing alone against a fucking dragon. His dad, dying in its mouth. Being burnt by its flames. Being slammed into a wall and slumping to the floor unmoving. Tears start streaming down his cheeks as Nick’s whole body begins to tremble and he tries to breathe but the air gets stuck in his throat and he can’t. His skin is getting hot and he feels like he can’t breathe, not in the way it feels when he accidentally wears his binder for too long, but like the air has been sucked out of his lungs and he can’t get it back in.

“Nick?” Henry’s voice has gone calm and soothing. “Ok, I think you’re having a panic attack. I need you to breathe, ok?” Nick tries to nod, but his whole body feels odd and foreign and he's not sure if Henry can even see it. “In for five, out for five. Breathe with me, ok?” It takes Nick a few tries to actually inhale instead of hyperventilating, but when he does his heart slows. “Is it ok if I touch you?” Henry asks, and Nick is able to manage a nod this time. A second later, he’s enveloped in Henry’s arms, and Nick sits there for a moment, not used to the feeling of a such tight and warm hug, and he gives in, letting himself go limp in Henry’s arms as the attack pases and Nick is able to breathe on his own.

After a few minutes of sobbing into Henry’s shirt (Nick makes a mental note to make sure this is never brought up again), Henry releases him, patting him on the shoulder and offering another cloth. Nick’s not quite sure where Henry is getting all of those, but it’s probably in his best interest not to ask.

Nick gives Henry a wobbly “Thanks,” and Henry just nods. 

“I’m so sorry, kiddo, I didn’t mean to set anything off. I-I’ll stop talking now, if you want.”

_ No. _ Nick shakes his head, he  _ wants _ to keep hearing about his dad. He doesn’t want the memories to fade, like ones of his mom have. “How did you do that?”

Henry raises an eyebrow. “Do what?”

“Stop the- the panic attack. How did you know what to do right away?”

Henry smiles a little sadly and says “Let’s just say I have… first hand experience with it.” It’s only now that Nick finally looks at Henry’s face, and he’s surprised that the dad’s eyes are red and puffy, his hair is somehow even more messed up than usually, and there are clear tear tracks running down his cheeks.

Henry clearly sees what Nick is understanding, and closes his eyes with a heavy sigh. “Your dad and I… we didn’t always get along, and at times I definitely didn’t like him. I’m sure he felt the same way about me, and so do you. Dang it, this probably isn’t helping, I know I’m not great at this emotional vulnerability thing, most dads aren’t… Oh, where was I? Right, Glenn and I sometimes don’t like each other but that doesn’t mean I don’t care about him. Me, Ron, Darryl- we’re going to figure this out, ok? He made us promise to take care of you. We did, but we also promised him that we’d reunite you two. ”

Nick doesn’t know what to say. He usually does, whether it be a joke, an insult disguised as a compliment, an actual insult- he always knows what to say. He got that from his dad. Now… he doesn’t know what to say.

The quiet is all too familiar, bringing back memories of an empty house and dusty photos on the walls. 

Nick hates the quiet.

Thankfully, Henry starts to talk again, telling a story of some fight against a librarian or something. Nick doesn’t really pay attention to the details. Instead, he imagines his dad, leaping into glorious battle and coming out the other side with nothing but a scratch. 

\---

Being dead has some benefits. You don’t need to breathe, you can’t get mortally wounded (at least that’s what Glenn thinks, but he’s not keen on testing that theory and ending up in some sort of Super-Hell), and Hell has a  _ very _ cool aesthetic.

And yet somehow the negatives outway all those positives.

A major problem is that you can feel physical pain. In retrospect, it makes sense. Hell is all about suffering, so you need to be able to suffer from whatever tortures demons try to enact on you. Worse, you can feel emotional pain. Glenn’s whole deal is not feeling emotional pain, and hiding it away, and Hell seems to be drawing out all those feelings Glenn has been shutting away for the last… forever. 

All that’s fine. Glenn can deal with that shit, he’s done it before. The worst part?

Morgan’s not here with him.

For the last five years, Glenn didn’t want to think about death or leaving Nick behind. When an occasional thought slipped through, he found some comfort in knowing that at least Morgan would be on the other side. 

But she’s not. Morgan was…. She wasn’t perfect, but her flaws only made Glenn love her more. Of course she’d go to Heaven. She deserved nothing less. And if Glenn ever had any doubts about if he’d go to hell or not, that fucking trial had cleared everything up.

He’s been here for what feels like ages, and all he can think about is how he’s separated from his family forever. This is it. This is his eternity. Morgan (and Nick, in some far-off future Glenn won’t think about) deserve eternal joy. Glenn just… doesn’t.

Glenn decides to take this moment of self reflection to kick a rock, and the rock promptly responds by biting the tip of his boot. Its teeth sink through the leather and into Glenn’s big toe (since when did rocks have teeth?), and it fucking  _ hurts. _

“What the hell was that, man?” Glenn hops up and down, trying to massage his foot, and the dragon seems to have done something to his inner ear because he’s suddenly on the ground. 

“This  _ is  _ Hell! Get used to it!” the rock snaps back, and Glenn flips it off.

Fucking bullshit. He’s been here for… some amount of time, and the entire time he’s been dealing with all sorts of demons, hellish landscapes, and general misery. Of course the rocks would start biting next. 

The rocks down a hill, seeming of its own volition, and it’s then that Glenn realizes how weird it is that he hasn’t really seen other people. Maybe it was dumb of him to assume Hell would be the Christian kind- or any other religion that he knows of. He’s not sure if this a Forgotten Realms afterlife, or just a general afterlife, or whatever, but at least he’s not being actively tortured. 

Hell kinda sucks, Glenn’s foot hurts, and he misses his family. 

At least it can’t get worse.

And then… it does. Of-fucking-course. You should never even  _ think  _ “this can’t get worse” because it inevitably will! 

So Glenn really shouldn’t be surprised when a familiar voice echoes from behind him.

“Even after everything, you still decided to be selfish. Honestly, I’m not surprised.”

Glenn sighs and gets to his feet, brushing dirt from his pants. His hands ball into fists and he takes a shaky not-breath as he plasters a painfully fake smile on his face and turns to face the speaker.

  
“You know, Willy, you have at  _ least  _ said hello.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter sort of got away from me so sorry if the tone is weird! anyways if you want to talk to me about dndads, dimension 20, or anything else my twitter is @/luumenss! i also do art sometimes there too


End file.
